


Feel It Still

by berzz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berzz/pseuds/berzz
Summary: In which Blaine and Sebastian are a ‘thing’ until one day they venture to go spy on New Directions performing “Feel It Still” byPortugal. The Man.Alternative Klaine first meeting. Set at the beginning of season 3.





	Feel It Still

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here a touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, but (if I dare to say so myself) it had me going for _four_ goddamn pages, to the point where rating this G felt like...understating it. Also, my writing in this gets a bit too abstract at times, but that's apparently how I roll when I get inspired.

“Seb, please behave,” Blaine mumbles as he opens the door for them, stepping inside the halls of McKinley High. “If we could just make it to the auditorium; this _Sue_ person tipped me off that they were about to hit it in there about five minutes ago...”

“I’ve warned you; public high schools bring out the worst in me,” Sebastian deadpans, slipping in after Blaine. “Remind me again what our plan is?”

“Plan? What plan?” Blaine asks him, closed-lipped, straightening up his vest (if there’s one thing public schools have the upper hand on it’s the freedom of the wardrobe) as he nods an amiable, inconspicuous _hi_ to someone passing them by. The school day at McKinley High was supposed to end about half an hour ago, which is evinced in the way the halls are mostly empty—nowhere near the rush crammed-up hours that would slip into Blaine’s nightmares once in a while, as a friendly reminder of one of the reasons he should never make the comeback to his old public school.

“We don’t have a plan, we just have to find a way to blend in with these students and follow the directions this… _weird,_ villain version of a cheerleading coach sent us,” Blaine murmurs as they walk, holding his back straight in an attempt to act natural. 

“Off we go then. Not sure I can pull off that first part though, but can you blame me?” Sebastian mumbles, flashing a sneering beam at one of the students passing them. 

Blaine rolls his eyes at Sebastian, but there _is_ a point to be made as to what type of school is more preferable. Sometimes Blaine can’t believe his own fortune, that his parents are willing and can afford to pay his private education so that he doesn’t have to worry about having to survive and can afford to simply _live._

“Aright, I think we’re supposed to take a left turn now…,” Blaine muses under his breath, peeking around the corner slightly.

“Oh Jeez, Anderson, go ahead and make a somersault like the spy you are, _that_ will ensure that we go unnoticed,” Sebastian grumbles into his ear as he circles him confidently to lead the way.

“Oh get over yourself,” Blaine hisses to his back, hanging his head when some other McKinley student passes them.

They reach the auditorium fairly smoothly, with no hurdles thrown their way and no unnecessary teachers crossing their path as their luck would have it. And their luck had it good.

“Shh,” Blaine gets hold of Sebastian’s elbow as they slip inside, tiptoeing their stealthy way to the back row. The stage is empty, but there is a subdued murmur of voices echoing from the backstage.

Down ahead in front of them, placed halfway through the auditorium, they see an empty desk with nobody sitting behind it.

“I thought they had an instructor?” Blaine muses quietly as they carefully pull their seats down to plop onto them. He isn’t about to complain, though; the less of a threat it is that they will get noticed, the better.

“God save the public sector,” Sebastian grits through his teeth, ignoring Blaine's concerns as he shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Shh,” Blaine hushes, raising a hand, laying it over Sebastian’s at the armrest.

“My ass fucking hurts, Anderson, and I’m gonna tell you this upfront: if you walk out of this with your taut, delicious ass molded by these chairs, I can’t promise you you’ll still turn me on.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Blaine says dismissively, watching the empty stage, quite literally on the edge of his seat.

“Blaine, I really won’t,” Sebastian warns him, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat to make his ass droop from the pad (which, in all its hardness, doesn’t even deserve the name ‘pad’.)

The music starts to play—the lonely, lively bass pattern which both boys recognize right from the get-go; Sebastian perks up a bit in his seat. Absent-minded, Blaine raises his hand from where it used to rest over Sebastian’s to pinch his lower lip instead, watching the New Directions girls make their entrance, trotting to the front. With light, graceful motions, they slip down to sit on the edge of the stage.

All of them rock a little from where they sit, moving their shoulders and hands to the drumless rhythm.

A boy enters the picture, strutting to the middle of the stage in a buttoned-down black-and-red-plaid shirt, a gray T-shirt underneath, and a pair of tight dark-gray pants hugging his thin legs. His hair is swept up in a delicate coiffure, his movements smooth and agile, making it seem like he all but _floats_ just above the surface of the stage.

_can’t keep my hands to myself_

He sings the first line as he walks, jutting his chin haughtily as he looks up into the audience to his right. The girls in front of him start to click their fingers to the soft upbeat.

Blaine doesn’t notice the way his own pupils blow a bit wider at a voice so naturally high and soft and just the perfect fit for this song; Blaine’d have to go into falsetto.

_think i’ll dust ‘em off,_  
_put ‘em back_  
_up on the shelf_

The boy lets his hands stroke his arms in a coy, lazy, suggestive manner as he nears the edge where all the girls are seated.

_in case my little baby girl is in need_

Sharply, he reaches out with one arm to clasp hands with one of the girls and pull her up quickly.

_am i coming out of left field?_

His other hand cuts through the air in a swift motion, pointing to the other side of the stage with his back to the audience as a cue for the rest of the members to step out of the dark—right before the boy turns back to the dark-haired girl and grips her waist sharply, both of their backs held straight in the starting position for a dance.

_ooh woo, i’m a rebel just for kicks, now_

They start to sing together as they walk across the stage in some sort of quick jazzy tango dance, the boy leading her in a back-step as the stage gets effectively filled with more people, each of them sliding up to the front with smooth twirls and moves before they stretch out a hand for the girls sitting at the edge to take.

_i been feeling it since 1966, now_

First off goes the blonde and the tallest guy of them all, then goes the blond guy and a dark-skinned girl, then Latina cheerleader and a blonde one, and then there is a mesmerizingly skilled Asian couple, all hauling the other up one by one, dancing to the pumping-beating-twisting music in some sort of Rock’n’Roll movements—congruently enough to ensure synchrony, yet diversely enough to create an effect of a slight dissonance, scattering the spectator’s attention over all of the couples, each doing a bit of their own thing.

“Jeez, they seem to have the whole package don’t they,” Sebastian smirks with his arms crossed in a bored, conceited manner as he watches their rivals perform. “Lesbians, a black girl—nay, a black _fat_ girl,” Sebastian holds up a finger, leaning over to Blaine, who just frowns dismissively at his grouchy, insensitive boyfriend without even bothering to glare at him.

The kids on stage move with enchanting sharpness and jauntiness, the choreography fairly straightforward yet smart at the same time; the level of involvement seems to be seamlessly distributed to each according to their level of competence.

“And let’s not forget about their hard-luck case of a gay front face,” Sebastian says to Blaine under his breath in an even, snide tone. “And him dancing with the girl makes it somehow look gayer than if it were you and I dancing,” he remarks, flashing Blaine’s way a satisfied simper. Blaine doesn’t look at him, though.

_got another mouth to feed_

The next verse is picked up by an Asian girl with long black hair as she flips a few strands back, striding across the front of the stage. An Asian guy catches her hand in the center, then wrings her towards him as she twirls and falls into his arms gracefully when he dips her, a gentle hand cupping her head.

As nimbly as they mastered that, the guy pulls the girl back up into the initial position next to her before together, they start flashing some elaborate dance moves, all perfectly synchronic and crisp and animated—the remaining bulk of the Glee club behind them also moving to the brisk rhythm.

_leave it with a babysitter; mama, call the grave digger_  
_gone with the falling leaves_

The Asian guy makes a swift twirl at that, hunkering down in the process like an ice skater— just like a falling leave, Blaine finds himself thinking.

“Wow, that was nice, actually,” Blaine murmurs to himself, wholly entranced by the performance. Sebastian turns to look at him, suddenly confused.

_ooh woo, i’m a rebel just for kicks, now_

The second chorus is sung by their whole club, their voices blending together into a soft unison, resonating across the auditorium. That’s where the choreography gets a little more intricate, their motions wider, the range of their dance moves broader, and they start to spread throughout the stage more.

What seems to be so special about them, to Blaine, is that they’re nowhere near the Vocal Adrenaline in terms of their dance elaborateness, yet _nor do they aspire to;_ it seems like all they are trying to convey is their heart and soul in all of this, even if it’s something as abstract and happy-go-lucky as this song.

_we could fight a war for peace_

The guy with the high, angelic voice and a delicate, pale complexion finds his way back to the front, taking up the last verse as he struts to the edge with the two girls in cheerleader uniforms by his sides. Front and center, they dance in place a little, moving their knees inward and kicking their feet in a breezy Charleston fashion, shaking their heads insouciantly as they do it.

Blaine finds himself actually _chortling_ at the sight, bringing up a hand to cover his grin.

_give in to that easy living,_  
_goodbye to my hopes and dreams_

The boy waves a dismissive hand at the audience as the girls next to him—as well as the rest of the members behind them—blow a sea of kisses bye. With that, the girls swing around and retreat to the back with an exuberant, confident gait.

_start_  
_flipping for my enemies_

The boy starts to walk back too with his piercing blue eyes fixed at some arbitrary point in the dark auditorium.

Blaine sinks lower in his seat instinctively, chills racing down his spine at the thought that they’ve been noticed. Which is highly unlikely, as the only way the kids would be supposed to see their vocal coach at all is due to the desk lamp installed on the instructor’s table. Otherwise, the spotlights blinding their visions would make it impossible.

The other members chime in to finish the verse as all of them line up in a triangular pattern, dancing synchronically in moves that Blaine recognizes to be recurrent throughout their dance routine.

“Let me get this straight,” Sebastian says to Blaine when he gets tired of simply watching the other like he has two heads. “You actually enjoying this?” he makes a hesitant motion with his palm, staring at Blaine whose attention is utterly gripped by the performance.

_is it coming_  
_is it coming_  
_is it coming_

Almost all of the kids break back into pairs, swinging and dancing to the front where they start plopping down to sit at the edge of the stage yet again, pair by pair. The lightning starts to flicker darker shades of turquoise; Blaine turns to glance at Sebastian for the first time since the beginning of the performance.

_is it coming_  
_is it coming_  
_is it coming back?_

The song suddenly reduces to the single, muted bass pattern, the only three people left standing in the center are the cheerleaders, the Latina in the middle and two blondes to her left and her right.

_ooh woo, i’m a rebel just for kicks_  
_yeah, your love is an abyss for my heart to eclipse_  
_now_

The Latina in a letter jacket sings, hunching a little as she clicks her fingers, swaying her knees together from side to side. The two blondes by her sides have their backs turned to her, dancing in place with their profiles facing the stage. The whole trio in the spotlight moves their arms and shrugs their shoulders and shifts their weight on the toes of their feet as the rest of the club sits quietly in the dark.

_might be over now,_  
_but i feel it still_

The blonde with a short haircut sings—right before the rest of the Glee members send a giant wave with their clasped hands from left to right, the spotlight shining the light back on their figures.

The music never returns after it died out some time ago, but the whole Glee club starts chanting the remaining lyrics a cappella, clapping along to compensate for the beat. The trio comes up forward, smiling down at their friends as the latter try to huddle closer together and squeeze the girls in.

To Sebastian’s rhetoric question, Blaine shrugs carelessly, unashamed of his feelings toward their rivals; after all, he knows a good performance when he sees it. And the amount of genial energy that he sees in New Directions now—makes him think he hasn’t known something so genial and genuine _ever._

_ooh woo, i’m a rebel just for kicks, now_  
_let me kick it like it’s 1986, now_  
_might be over now, but i feel it still_  
_(might’ve had your fill_  
_but you feel still)_

The kids wrap it up, and the silence that ensues doesn’t stretch for long—they burst into supportive applause and cheers and whistles, hugging whoever sits the closest to them, chirping enthusiastically about some of the remarks they have for themselves.

“I mean,” Sebastian goes on, seemingly dissatisfied with the lack of Blaine’s enmity towards their rivals. His body is slumped in his chair and his head nearly resting on top of Blaine’s shoulder. “It should say a lot about someone who enjoys smelling their own farts like that,” he shrugs, batting his eyelashes up at Blaine as he tilts his head back. “Just sayin.”

“What?” Blaine snorts in disgust, turning to look down at his unbelievable boyfriend. _“Ew.”_ he protests. “Like _we_ don’t pat each other on the back after we finish,” he adds afterward, looking at Sebastian like he should be better than that.

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“Here we go again,” Sebastian straightens up in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. “Do you have an itch up your ass that makes you horny with defending _every_ loser I point out?” he asks in that soft, snide, catlike voice of his, turning his head to Blaine like he couldn’t resist his curiosity.

Blaine glares at him. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this is a mere projection, and you’re the one with the issues and your _horniness_ to go shitting on anything that presents any sort of competition or a possible threat to you,” Blaine hisses to him with his arms crossed, heedless of New Directions on stage by this point.

Sebastian snickers.

“Who, them?” he asks, pointing a disdainful finger at the stage. “Oh come on, Blainers, you’re hurting my pride,” he says to him, leaning back with an unctuous simper. “I thought you’ve known me for long enough to know that I don’t have _that_ little self-respect,” he points a demonstrative glance to the stage at the word ‘that’.

Blaine chuckles joylessly, hopelessly, turning to look away.

—only to find the whole Glee club on stage dead silent, looking _Blaine and Sebastian’s_ way with their hands shielding the spotlight that’s being poured onto their faces. Blaine feels his heart sink low into his stomach; Sebastian straightens up, suddenly serious. And they would’ve run, Blaine’s sure they would—if it wasn’t for the next thing that happens.

The auditorium lights suddenly get turned on, shining the light on Blaine’s and Sebastian’s figures sitting in the last row, and when they turn to look for the way they came in to rush out, they find a guy with a mohawk—one of the New Directions members—blocking the exit.

When did _that_ happen?

“I see we have fans,” the mohawk guy points out, jutting his chin at them as he crosses his arms in an overbearing manner.

“Fans?” Blaine hears Sebastian ask from behind him as he casually drops his head to the back of his chair. Blaine knows what he’s going to say before he says it; his voice buttered with fake politeness says it all. “Oh no, no; we’re more like…” Sebastian feigns a fuss to find the right word, pursing his lips contemplatively. “People who have good taste?” he offers with an uncertain grimace, snidely nonchalant.

*

Blaine is the one to clean up _their_ mess, as always. Blaine is the one to halt this before it spirals any further out of control, before Sebastian provokes any more hostility than they’ve already ventured upon themselves.

Blaine is the one to stroll down to the stage and sincerely apologize to everyone for snooping. He’s the one to explain who they are and what their intentions were, and what _his_ impression turned out to be—genuine fascination with their performance and that he, in fact, _would_ consider himself now a fan of theirs.

Sebastian does get away with a few more venomous remarks, however, (when Blaine finds himself a little bit distracted,) but overall—it seems that Blaine does succeed in burying the hatchet after they and the New Directions got off on the wrong foot.

But it’s also Blaine who gets a little _too_ often lost in watching the pale boy opposite of him in the New Directions crowd. It’s Blaine who, again and again, finds his own gaze drawn back to the boy’s delicate features, to the boy’s perfect coiffure, to the gentle smile tugging at the corners of the boy’s lips as he stares down at his cell phone, typing something out.

Out of all the interaction Blaine’s got with the New Directions so far, he’s managed to catch everybody’s glances at least once—and not one time does the pale, beautiful boy lift his eyes up at what’s being discussed. It makes Blaine wonder against his will what the boy’s typing about, whom he’s texting, and why he doesn’t seem to be interested in the life of his Glee club like that. At least, not while Blaine and Sebastian are around.

Even when Sebastian quips a transient remark about the boy—Blaine knows it’s something rude and rather unpleasant without bothering to listen—the boy looks up from his phone to glance at Sebastian—and that’s it.

Blaine only gets a glimpse of his sharp, piercing, crystal blue eyes before the boy goes back to his iPhone, back to that soft smile as he looks at something in his phone as if the world around him doesn’t really matter now.

The longer Blaine keeps sneaking glances at him, the longer those glances seem to last, and by the end of the exchange, Blaine’s outright staring.

“Well, I can only see this ending one way, if you want us to stay silent,” the dark-haired girl—the one the boy danced with in the beginning—avers.

“Hm?” Blaine raises his eyebrows, blinking away his captivation by the boy’s enchanting aura.

“ _We_ get to spy on _you_ without any heads-up or a forewarning at some point in the future,” she proposes, glancing around at her fellow Glee club members to see if they’re on board.

Sebastian sneers, turning to look at Blaine like a cat who’s finally got his cream.

“Oh, this is so good. Oh, this is perfect,” he tells Blaine, but for everyone to hear. “They’ll be psyched the shit out and we won’t even have to try,” he says, tilting his head, watching the rival Glee club opposite of him like the sweethearts they are, in his mind.

Blaine winces, fed up with Sebastian’s attitude.

“I’m sorry for him,” Blaine can’t help but apologize, anticipating the diatribe Sebastian will unleash on him once they’re alone; there isn’t a thing Sebastian hates more than for somebody to be apologizing _for_ him. The only person he lets get away with something like this is Blaine, and that probably has something to do with the fact that he doesn’t want to forfeit his privilege of being able to get into Blaine’s pants.

Boyfriends they are, after all.

Sebastian is okay to be around sometimes, sometimes he’s even fun, and at times when Blaine feels lonely, he’s a good distraction. A surprisingly good one, Blaine has to grant him that.

Blaine feels bad about using people, but in this instance, he’s fairly sure Sebastian’s end-game is to use _Blaine,_ so at least they are on the same page in terms of their feelings.

“He doesn’t mean it like that,” Blaine tries to excuse him, making a placating gesture with his hand.

“Yes I do,” Sebastian chimes in smugly, flashing everyone a broad smile.

“Okay, but _I don’t,_ ” Blaine glares at him. “And I’m sorry that you have to hear this. And I hope you won’t let this get to you; you can honestly just dismiss whatever he’s saying just like all of us do.”

This was pushing it, he knew it. Sebastian isn’t about to let anybody talk about him like that _in his presence,_ but suddenly this doesn’t seem important to Blaine.

What’s suddenly important, is not to convey the wrong impression of where he stands on all of this, of how he doesn’t think like Sebastian at all, and how he’s truly impressed with their Glee club, regardless of whether they’ll have to compete at the next Regionals or not.

Sebastian arches an enraged eyebrow, crossing his arms as he fixes Blaine’s profile with an _‘Excuse you?’_ stare.

“We will accept your deal,” Blaine goes on, heedless of Sebastian’s reaction to his words. “Anytime,” Blaine waves a hand. “Feel at home,” Blaine adds, and he can’t help his gaze from slipping sideways to the boy. He’s scrolling something in his iPhone.

“Maybe you can him straight to your bed? Why all the tiptoeing,” Sebastian suggests without his distinctive smirk this time, his voice cold, his expression smooth and menacingly deadpan. When Blaine, taken aback, turns to look at him, he feels a sudden cold rushing down his veins; he’s never been on the receiving end of that look, he’s never got on Sebastian’s bad side before.

Curiously enough, this exact remark seems to finally draw the boy’s attention. Mid-typing, he looks up first at Sebastian, then at Blaine, his face inscrutable.

“Though I have to say,” Sebastian goes on, crossing his arms. “While I might be opened to the third person in our bedroom _in theory,_ you have to know better than _that,_ don’t you, hon?” he regains that disparaging smirk of his, eyeing Kurt from head to toe to stress his point.

When Blaine turns back to look at the boy, he doesn’t expect to find him looking _right back at him._

Blaine can swear the rush of electricity dashes through his body—from his thighs up to his heart _which literally skips a beat_ when Blaine locks his eyes with the boy’s ocean-like ones. Blaine’s cheeks must flush up a little—or at least that’s what he feels and fears as he holds his piercing eye contact, other New Direction members looking between the three of them with wholehearted _wtf_ expressions plastered on their faces.

Blaine and the (beautiful) pale boy hold the eye contact a little (a lot) longer than appropriate, and the latter is the first one to break it— _slowly,_ he lowers his gaze back at his iPhone, returning back to typing somewhat hesitantly.

There is an awkward beat of silence before the girl—Rachel, she said her name was—stretches out a hand for them to clinch the deal.

A little shaken, Blaine shakes her hand.

*

“Blaine!” Rachel squeaks incredulously later that week when she and the tallest guy in New Directions step out of the Glee class holding hands.

Weirdly enough, it wasn’t as hard as Blaine once imagined it would be to sniff around and find where their Glee classes took place and when they were supposed to end.

Now here he is back in McKinley High halls, and Rachel with that tall guy just happened to be the first ones to walk out, the rest can be seen treading behind their backs on their way out too, hindered by the pair when Rachel stops dead in her tracks.

Blaine smiles at her and sucks in a bracing breath.“Hi,” he waves a hand before he hugs himself. “I’m just—here to see someone…,” he explains with a dismissive grimace and a shrug.

Rachel’s mouth forms an o-shape as she tilts her head back a little, unsure.

“Oh,” she says, turning to glance up at Finn who seems to be ten times as clueless as her.

“Yeah,” Blaine says with an awkward smile; Latina with a blonde cheerleader try to circle the pair on their way home.

“Ooh, do I smell Kurt getting some?” Latina drawls in a low, suggestive voice, winking at Blaine as she tugs the blonde away.

Blaine traces her back with an odd look; Rachel seems to suddenly get it, flashing the tall guy a knowing beam.

“Okay, good luck,” Rachel chirps, and the next thing Blaine knows is her reaching out to squeeze his arm before she tugs the tall guy by their clasped hands away.

“Okay, thanks?” Blaine mumbles, somewhat lost and not really following as he watches the pair leave.

A few other members walk out of the room, and he whom Blaine’s waiting for seems to be one of the last.

Blaine feels his stomach churn; he’s _just_ as Blaine remembered him to be, the pale, haunting, mysterious picture engraved in the back of his mind.

“Hey,” he surges forward, unsure, stretching out a hand to stop him from leaving.

The boy slows down; he’s carrying a bag, his pale fingers wrapped around the strap, his figure slim and stylishly dressed.

A black girl by his side looks up at Blaine mid-sentence—a smile touches up her face before she tries to stifle it, glancing up at the boy in a silent assurance that she will see him later.

A little bit lost, the boy nods at her before she shifts her weight to the balls of her feet to reach up and kiss his cheek.

She leaves, eyeing Blaine with her lips pressed together as she passes him.

The boy watches her go, then turns to look at Blaine, his head tilted down a bit as he eyes Blaine from under his eyelashes, expectant and, as it seems, with no clue as to what Blaine wants from him. His blue eyes pierce through Blaine’s heart like two sharp icicles.

“Um, do you have a minute?” Blaine asks, tilting his head to the side as he clasps his hands together in front of himself.

The boy nods with little to no change in his posture.

“Hi,” Blaine smiles then, coy and charming. “I’m Blaine,” he stretches out a hand.

The boy stares up at him, his expression still inscrutable but a slight promise of a smile almost ghosting through.

“I know,” he says quietly with a nod before he reaches out to shake his hand. “I’m Kurt.”

Blaine’s hold on his hand tightens at the sound of his—Kurt’s—voice. Blaine swallows down, reluctant to let go of Kurt’s hand—so soft and silky and _right_ in his, having the same feel to Blaine’s touch as his voice has the sound to Blaine’s ear.

Kurt seems to squeeze back a little, also swallowing softly as his ocean-blue eyes lock onto Blaine’s hazel ones, the cold and empty space between them kept warm by their hands kept in contact.

Kurt is the first one to let go; he reaches up with a second hand to haul the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder.

He’s so beautiful.

When the silence drags on for too long, Kurt looks up at Blaine to raise an expectant eyebrow at him—to find Blaine just staring at him, unabashed and quiet and overt in his enthrallment with Kurt.

Blaine keeps watching Kurt’s face when Kurt turns to glance to the side, unable to keep himself from blushing and breaking into a quiet smile.

“I’m sorry, am I—making you uncomfortable?” Blaine asks earnestly, taking a tiny step back. He can’t help his smile at the sight of Kurt’s smile though.

Kurt turns back to look at him, a soft, adoring, genuinely happy beam on his face that he seems to be having a hard time to suppress.

Kurt shakes his head no, looking down.

“A little,” he says, contrary to his body language.

Blaine chuckles awkwardly, a smile on his face so radiant it could light up the universe.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to”—Blaine lifts up his hand—“I only wanted to apologize for the other day.”

Kurt raises a gaze up at him, arching an eyebrow challengingly. _Knowingly._

“I really do,” Blaine insists merrily, genuinely. “This was… _wholly_ wrong of us to do, especially with how Sebastian treated you guys later.”

Kurt nods, eyes looking downward.

“I know,” he looks up. “Thanks for apologizing.”

His voice is breathtaking. Blaine blinks, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I…,” he closes his mouth and just gazes into Kurt’s eyes for a couple of silent moments. “I know this might be completely out of line, and if you think so, please don’t be shy to tell me to back off, but—”

Kurt listens to Blaine’s babble carefully, nodding to his words with fabricated seriousness and a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Blaine takes a shuddering breath.

“I would _love_ to take you out on a cup of coffee some time, if you’d want to go with me,” Blaine says in a low, breathy timbre without breaking their eye contact once. It’s like his heart is speaking, and Blaine finds the sound foreign to his own ears.

Kurt stops nodding when Blaine says those words and freezes to stare back into his eyes intensely. The amusement in the blue of his eyes melts into something else, something turbid, and Blaine feels his heart skip an anxious beat as he waits for the answer.

Those seconds after Blaine’s asking before Kurt’s replying are intense, Kurt’s stare is bordering on _menacing_ and _promising_ of something else, of something deep and fierce, and Blaine grapples to understand it when Kurt finally sucks in a breath, ready to respond.

His voice is just as subdued and mellow and intimate as was Blaine’s when he says, “I’d go with you.”

*

Blaine sniffs in the aroma of fresh coffee pervading the tiny Lima Bean café, the closest one to McKinley High in the whole (not so widespread) Lima Bean coffee shop network. Blaine cherishes the sacred smell inside his lungs in no hurry to exhale and lets his eyelids dip at the peaceful seclusion this cozy, well-lit place offers in the midst of the gloomy, blustery fall hovering over the town.

 _Kurt’s town,_ Blaine corrects himself as he opens his eyes to gaze up at Kurt sitting opposite of him at the table, his legs elegantly crossed, his index finger tracing the rim of his cup delicately. 

_Except it isn’t Kurt’s town,_ not by any stretch of the imagination, and yet being in this small Ohio town with Kurt somehow makes Blaine feel like the whole world is theirs.

Kurt seems nervous, Blaine thinks as he watches him with the unconcealed interest in his eyes, raising his own cup to make a sip.

“Autumn is your favorite time of the year, isn’t it?” Blaine asks in a gravelly voice after taking a sip, looking at Kurt like he’s the most intriguing mystery he never wants to have solved.

Blaine’s scarf is draped over the back of his chair behind him, the huge buttons on his black coat undone and its flaps unfurled deliciously. His Dalton blazer underneath.

Kurt arches a silent eyebrow up at Blaine, glancing at him from under his eyelashes without stopping the movement of his finger. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of Kurt’s lips before he gets hold of his cup and lifts it up to his mouth to hide it.

Kurt takes a sip, then licks his lips, gaze shifting to some distant point past Blaine.

“Okay,” he says, eyes looking back into Blaine’s eyes _and his voice is pure silk_ ; Blaine can’t quite get over how it manages to sound so _velvety_ and _masculine_ at the same time. “My favorite season _is_ fall,” Kurt says playfully, eyes bright and blue and mesmerizing as they pierce into Blaine’s. “My favorite holiday _is_ Thanksgiving, and my favorite person is my dad,” Kurt lays it all out gently, tilting his head to the side as he holds the eye contact with a private smile twinkling in his eyes. “Musicals are my whole life though I can name all the reasons why someone would find them a waste of time. I draw my inspiration from…”—Kurt’s gaze wanders up above Blaine’s head for a second, approximating—“everything that should be a waste of time, and I’m fairly sure I’ve cracked the world’s biggest life hack because doing that makes me the happiest person on Earth,” he finishes, breathless with content, nodding with a soft smile before he lowers his gaze and brings the cup up to his mouth.

Glassy-eyed, Blaine sniffs in a shuddering breath, watching Kurt take a sip. The look in Blaine’s eyes is glazed and honestly adrift as he feels his heart race with its own self for no reason other than the distant, sudden awareness fluttering in his stomach that he is oh so absolutely _finished._

“Well, in this town at the very least,” Kurt corrects himself in a grouchy mumble, making a ‘whatever’ face.

Blaine blinks at him, swallowing down, a far more serious air about him that the situation calls for.

Kurt catches his preoccupied gaze and changes in his face, leaning back a bit in his seat as he reciprocates the distant, faraway look.

He’s so beautiful Blaine’s afraid to put it into words.

Blaine’s hand inches forward of its own accord.

“Can I take your hand?” Blaine asks Kurt in almost a whisper, eyes fixed on Kurt’s face for the slightest sign of objection before Kurt even gives his answer.

Blaine slides his hand forward, palm-up, his heart on his sleeve written all across his face as he looks at Kurt, vulnerable and heedless.

Kurt keeps watching him, entranced, and Blaine sees his Adam’s apple bob when Kurt slides his hand outward slowly in response.

Blaine’s swamped with goosebumps when their fingers touch as they slide against each other; without breaking their eye contact, Blaine closes his hand around Kurt’s wrist.

Kurt’s cold fingers close around Blaine’s warm wrist.

Blaine strokes Kurt’s frail, delicate skin there with his thumb—his touch so gentle and ethereal there’s a chance it goes unfelt by Kurt.

Blaine feels like he needs more air than the capacity of his lungs can offer; the deep blue of Kurt’s eyes is the only thing anchoring Blaine against the wild rush of emotions sweeping him up.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Blaine hears Kurt ask in a low, private, intimate voice. Blaine can’t stop his gaze from dropping to the perfect curvature of Kurt’s lips when he speaks. Blaine can’t stop his lips from tingling at the mere thought of what it would’ve felt like.

At the question, Blaine makes a sharp intake of breath, an awful, wrong feeling creeping up his throat. His grip on Kurt’s soft hand tightens briefly, as if out of some subconscious worry that Kurt might let go. Blaine swallows before he responds, reluctant to say the word, reluctant for his answer to be the truth.

So he doesn’t reply just yet, reaches out with a free hand to feel around the pocket in his coat instead.

There isn’t a second they let their eye contact be broken, and there isn’t a second that Blaine spends without bathing in the perfect grasp of Kurt’s hand.

He fishes out his iPhone and only looks down for a second to tap a couple of times on the screen and dial someone up.

Blaine presses his cell phone to his ear, letting his clothed elbow rest on the table as Kurt and he—gaze at each other, their thumbs caressing each other’s skin.

Blaine doesn’t look away when the person on the other end of the line picks up, Blaine doesn’t change in his face at all; the only thing that changes is his grip as it gets tighter around Kurt’s hand reassuringly.

“Hi. Are you busy tonight?” Blaine’s voice is even and calm as he speaks, sure to its chore, but also with a tinge of something unavoidably _sad_ in it, resigned. “I’ll need to talk to you. Meet me at our spot, outside?” Blaine asks, tilting his head to the side with a slight frown, holding the eye contact with Kurt.

Kurt gawks at him, having _some_ idea as to who might be on the other end of the line.

“At eight.”

Kurt swallows.

“Okay, see you.” The person says something that makes the corners of Blaine’s lips twitch in a bittersweet smile. “See you,” he repeats.

Blaine hangs up, locks his iPhone, and tucks it back into the pocket of his coat—amber eyes glued to the crystal blue ones. Kurt waits carefully for what’s coming next, blinking at Blaine in a bit of a stupor.

Blaine leans forward and rests his other hand on top of their clasped ones, cupping Kurt’s hand from above, his coffee cup encircled with his arms.

Blaine looks deep into Kurt’s eyes and says, “Yes, I do have a boyfriend, Kurt.” His voice is small when he says it, laced with bone-deep regret. His hands close around Kurt’s one in a touch so tender it’s almost afraid. “Except five minutes ago I realized for the first time since I started calling him my boyfriend…” Blaine speaks quietly, enunciating each word as he searches Kurt’s eyes. There’s an indistinct shake of Blaine’s head and a rueful wince before he says, “That he never had _me._ ”

Kurt sniffs in a breath that he stifles half-way, a frown in the corners of his lips as he tries to suppress an emotion, refusing to look away.

“No one has,” Blaine shakes his head when he says, rocking forward once, watching Kurt as if hoping he would understand. “And it makes me terrified, believe it or not”—he says with a thrilled, foolish smile shining through—“that nobody… _ever_ ”—he chuckles shakily—“knows that nobody ever has them until someone…”—Blaine closes his eyes for a second, eyebrows furrowed together—“ _unearthly_ comes along and just…”

Blaine takes a moment to worry his lip with his teeth, feasting his eyes on Kurt’s exquisite features.

“…has them,” Blaine finishes his sentence lamely with a helpless shrug, gazing at Kurt lovingly, done for and careless about it.

Kurt swallows down, blinking rapidly as he takes a shuddering breath. They both let out nervous chuckles when Kurt exhales, looking down at their hands clasped together and squeezed tight. Kurt’s other hand finds Blaine’s upper hand to cover it, making their double sandwich of hands officially complete. Blaine shudders quietly.

_It feels so painfully right._

Kurt looks up at him, his eyes a deep, intimate shade of blue, his teeth nibbling at the inside of his cheek. Blaine feels his heart throb.

“My name is Blaine Anderson. I’m born and raised in Westerville, Ohio,” he says with a joking arch of his bushy triangular-shaped eyebrow. Kurt lets out a giddy chuckle, squeezing at his hands.

The light in the shop illuminates their faces against the dark sky outside; an abstract wind melody floats over the din of the customers’ voices.

“My favorite type of weather is a thunderstorm, and I’m hoping to witness the dust storm one day. I imagine it must be awesome,” Blaine says with a childlike spark in his eyes.

Kurt’s lips curve in a half-suppressed, adoring smile as he tilts his head a little, watching Blaine.

“My favorite type of food is the coffee-flavored avocado cheesecake I’ve only stolen a bite of once when this vegan friend of mine wasn’t looking,” Blaine winks as he goes on. “My favorite type of party is exactly the boring barbecue with my family”—Blaine giggles when Kurt does, gazing into his eyes as he speaks—“where my grandpa asks me for the hundredth time what grade I’m in and my drunken relatives poke fun at each other so masterfully they have me splitting my sides,” Blaine says, smiling.

They hold tight onto each other’s hands, seated right there in the midst of the crowded coffee shop.

“My favorite place in the world is some random New York street from that one time I’ve been there and fell in love with it. I don’t think anyone cares”—Blaine gushes, shaking his head softly—“but I can close my eyes and retrace every little corner it had, to this day.”

They gaze at each other; Kurt is smiling softly at this point, with no holding back; his thumb strokes Blaine’s skin.

“I _ran,_ once in my life, the second my life got serious,” Blaine nods to his own words, watching Kurt’s face pensively. “I ran because I had the luxury to run. And then I sneaked off to spy on that Glee club of yours the other day,” Blaine switches onto a playful note, wiggling his eyebrows at Kurt.

“Hm, really?” Kurt murmurs with an uncontrollable smile. “And what did you find?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at Blaine with genuine, charming curiosity.

“I’m glad you asked,” Blaine says with a humorous accent, leaning forward a bit.

They laugh, their shoulders shaking as they giggle. Blaine takes a second to gaze up at Kurt, smiling radiantly, a little red in his face from laughter, before he responds.

“I found people who don’t _want_ to run, no matter _how_ serious it gets. No matter _what,”_ Blaine shakes his head, drowning in the deep blue of Kurt’s eyes. “Kurt, I found someone who makes me want my life to _get_ serious,” he says quietly.

Kurt stares at Blaine, swallowing, and Blaine isn’t quite sure he sees Kurt’s chest heave with breathing the way it’s supposed to do.

 _“You have me, Kurt,”_ he whispers finally, plain and simple. “Do I sound like the kind of person you’d _want_ to have?”

“Oh, God,” Kurt whispers, blinking his eyes up. Blaine watches him worriedly: _are his eyes wet?_

Before Blaine’s brain catches up with it, Kurt tugs at their clasped hands. Caught off guard, Blaine lets his arms be stretched further out as Kurt brings Blaine’s hands up to his lips.

The next thing Blaine knows is a soft, _warm,_ tender kiss pressed somewhere to his knuckles.

His mouth falls open in surprise and his heart flutters wildly in his chest at the warmth Kurt’s delicate skin gives off when Kurt nuzzles the back of Blaine’s hands, hiding his face in their fingers still entwined.

_Oh, God._

When Kurt lowers their hands back down gently, his face looks completely, _delectably_ out of it, his eyes turbid and heavy-lidded, his nostrils sucked in as he sniffs a breath, his skin flushed around his mouth a little as he looks up at Blaine slowly.

Blaine runs his tongue over his gums, eyes riveted to Kurt’s inviting lips; there’s so much he can do right now to hold himself back from acting on the spur of the moment.

“You sound like the kind of person who had me at the coffee-flavored avocado cheesecake,” Kurt breathes out, shaking his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Glee might be over now, but I feel it still.


End file.
